


sometimes the old life haunts the new

by silverflyingmachine



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Drabble, F/M, Human Connor (Detroit: Become Human), One Shot, POV Second Person, Pining, Post-Peaceful Android Revolution (Detroit: Become Human), Quiet, Reader-Insert, References to Depression, falling in love on walks, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 06:45:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17844404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverflyingmachine/pseuds/silverflyingmachine
Summary: Emotions ruin everything.You and Connor try and find some meaning and connection in the world.





	sometimes the old life haunts the new

**sometimes the old life haunts the new**

 

Connor cups your face with both hands. Holds your gaze and whispers, “What’s wrong. You seem so far away.”

You laugh, small and quiet, and lean back against the DPD break room armchair. It’s late. Barely anyone is left at the office. Evening chatter from the night-shift beat cops creeps through the closed door.

“I’m fine,” you lie. It’s easier to lie, than to tell him the truth. Emotions always make things messy. You can’t afford to make this messy.

Connor tilts his head. He’s analyzing you – deconstructing you into tiny data points – it leaves you breathless and small every time. “Your vitals appear normal.” He drops his hands. “But you still do not seem yourself, Detective. Is there something I can assist you with?”

“Not everything can be fixed Connor. Sometimes…sometimes things break.”

Connor frowns. He doesn’t like this conclusion. “Lt. Anderson often exhibits similar behavior. He gets “lost in his head.”” Connor mimics the quotation gesture with his hands. You wonder where he learned that mannerism. Probably Hank. It’s almost always Hank.

“And what does Hank do?”

Connor winces. “Usually he drinks. However, I do not recommend this course of action. It will be detrimental to your health.”

After a few moments of silence, Connor stands up and offers you his hand. “Would you like to go for a walk? Walking helps clear my mind and I have finished my reports for the day.”

You look up at him, and he looks so damn hopeful. You want to say something eloquent. Something quippy, but all you can manage is halfhearted: “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

 

Michigan in late spring is lovely, you think. Detroit’s city lights sparkle behind you and the pair of you walk along the Detroit River.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Connor asks. He doesn’t stop his steady pace, but you can feel all his attention on you.

You hesitate for a moment, before turning to face him. He looks beautiful against the night sky, the Ambassador bridge behind him and the river’s water lapping in the distance. “Sometimes, Connor…the old life can haunt the new. Sometimes it catches up to you. No matter how much you don’t want it to. It’s fucking exhausting.”

Connor makes a small humming sound and leans his back against the walkway railing. He definitely got that quirk from Hank. You’ve seen the lieutenant do it during meetings with Fowler.

You feel exposed. Like you’ve said too much and now…and now it’s going to be different.

Instead, Connor looks past you into some distant memory. His face unnaturally blank and whispers, “I understand.” He turns his gaze back and you and smiles sadly. “Emotions aren’t new to me, per se. I just have the choice to acknowledge them now. And sometimes it’s all I can feel.”

Connor sticks his hand in his coat pocket and fiddles with something hidden away. You don’t have to ask what it is. You know with crystalline certainty it’s the quarter you’ve watched him spin on numerous occasions.

“It isn’t always bad” he continues. “But sometimes, there are old memories…from things I did before I met Hank. Before I questioned my _program_.” The last word is tinged with shame and anger.

You step next to him and lean forward on the railing, looking across the river at Windsor, and murmur, “the old life haunts the new.”

Connor nods. “It’s why I like going on walks. To try and parse out all the feelings, and perhaps to try and out run them.” He turns, so you’re both standing shoulder to shoulder in the spring air. “If you’d like…you can join me. I would not be opposed to your company.”

You lay your hand on his forearm and smile up at him. It feels something like a promise. “Thank you, Connor. I would really like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Mary Oliver poem, "Benjamin, Who Came From Who Knows Where."
> 
>  
> 
> _Benny, I say, /don’t worry. I also know the way/the old life haunts the new._


End file.
